


naming no matt murdocks

by satan_cans_his_vegetables



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, bed sharing bc that's the best trope, foggy is in love and matt is oblivious, karen is irritated because matt and foggy are the worst, we love a good hidden feelings plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satan_cans_his_vegetables/pseuds/satan_cans_his_vegetables
Summary: some days, matt gets too close, and foggy feels his skin ignite. loving matt feels a bit like being icarus - he knows he’s burning himself up, but the warmth matt provides is worth every scorching second. no one holds a candle to him, because matt is more like the sun itself.  ( a pipe bursts in matt's apartment, and he stays with foggy while they fix it. foggy can't keep his stupid mouth shut for longer than a day about being in love with matt. )





	naming no matt murdocks

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends, i shotgunned s3 of daredevil and have been knee-deep in feelings ever since. this is the first fic i've written in almost 5 years pls have mercy on me. this takes place at some point before foggy finds out matt is daredevil. please leave a comment to lemme know what you think!!!

All in all, Foggy’s had a pretty spectacular morning. For once, he’s awake before his alarm, and that gives him an extra ten minutes to buy coffee for himself, Matt, and Karen - it’s his turn, anyways. He owes Karen something obscenely sugary after the last late night at the office, and he seems to be perpetually picking up the tab on Matt’s morning coffee. It’s been their routine since college, but Foggy doesn’t mind. He’s not the kind of guy to fuss over a few dollars here and there, although, at this point, it must be several thousand. Foggy still doesn’t mind.

He honest to God _saunters_ into the office and sets the tray of coffees down on Karen’s desk. It’s stiflingly warm in the building, even with all of the windows open. None of them can really afford to do anything about it, so Foggy spends most of his time complaining loudly while Matt suffers in silence, as per usual. _It must be a Catholic thing,_ Foggy thinks. _Penance, or something. There’s no way he’s not melting._ Karen, on the other hand, has the added advantage of wearing dresses. She doesn’t have to swelter in dress pants and a button-up like Matt and Foggy do. Foggy complains about that too.

“I’m just saying, don’t act surprised if one of these days I show up in a sundress or something. It’s too hot for pants.” He quips one day while working away with his office door wide open.

“Foggy, I will literally pay you to keep your pants on. _Please._ ” Karen’s voice sounds strained at the thought, and Foggy hears Matt laugh from across the office. Foggy tries not to think too hard about how it makes his chest tighten. 

“Hey, I’ll take it. Ten bucks and I’ll stay as clothed as you want. I’ll start a campaign, _buy my decency for just ten dollars a day._ ” They all get a good laugh out of that, and Foggy stops complaining, at least for a few hours.

Foggy does a slow turn in the open space in search of his co-workers. Rarely is he ever the first one at the office. Matt’s cane rests by the door, so he must be close by. 

“Matt?” Foggy calls. He looks through the open door of Matt’s office (swiftly quashing the feeling of guilt that comes with snooping) and finds it empty, save for Matt’s suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. The bathroom door opens and Foggy hastily lurches away from Matt’s doorway.

“Hey Foggy.” Matt’s voice is rough like he’s just woken up. Foggy’s pulse picks up subconsciously in his chest. _Oh, that’s definitely not happening._ Foggy looks Matt over briefly and takes in the seriously wrinkled dress shirt he’s got on, as well as the missing tie. He tries not to focus on the unbuttoned collar of Matt’s shirt.

“You look like shit.” The words leave him before he really thinks about them, and he tries not to cringe. Matt laughs, thank God, and finishes buttoning up.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Seriously, man. Did you sleep here?” He walks over to Karen’s desk and picks up Matt’s coffee, gently nudging Matt’s knuckles with it so he’ll know its there. He takes it graciously and leans against the wall, a sheepish look coming across his face. At least, Foggy _thinks_ it’s sheepish - it’s hard to tell when he can’t see Matt’s eyes, even after all of these years.

“Yeah - yeah, I did. A pipe burst in my apartment yesterday, the landlord’s getting it fixed for me.” He shrugs. Foggy’s confused. 

“So you thought the solution to that was to sleep in our shoebox of an office? A shoebox _without_ air conditioning, need I remind you?” His eyebrows nearly shoot up to his hairline, though he knows the gesture is lost in translation. Matt shrugs again. 

“It’s only for a few days, Foggy. Besides, it’s not like I have many other options.” He says it so nonchalantly that Foggy has to try _very hard_ not to be offended. 

“If only your genius partner in crime had a couch you could crash on. _Oh wait._ ” Foggy grins. Matt swallows a mouthful of coffee and quickly shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak but Foggy cuts him off immediately. “I know what you’re thinking. _Foggy, you’re so smart, why didn’t I think of this sooner?_ Well, the answer is because you _suck,_ Murdock. You suck at not getting all worried about being in the way. I’m not taking no for an answer, by the way. You’re staying at my place, no ifs, ands, or buts.” Matt can barely get a word in edgewise, not when Foggy’s rambling like this, so he just nods and gives in.

By the end of the day, Foggy has sweat through his shirt, and he’s grateful to go home and collapse onto his couch. The air conditioning in his apartment is old and prone to leaking, but at least it works well enough to not make his apartment feel like the seventh circle of Hell. Matt follows and drops onto the couch beside Foggy. This is a familiar ritual, always played out with the same motions in the same order. Foggy sits first, then Matt. They eat terrible Chinese take-out, and Foggy makes fun of terrible reality television while he explains it in vivid detail to Matt. The evening ends as it always has, with Foggy sprawled across the couch cushions with his legs across Matt’s lap, and Foggy doesn’t think about how warm Matt is. 

Truthfully, he’s been more than a little bit in love with Matt Murdock since college. He vehemently denies it to anyone and everyone who asks (including Karen, who’s determined to get a story out of him like the star journalist that she is), but in his heart he knows it to be true. He’s gone through his fair share of partners since then - Marci comes to mind, most notably - but nothing’s ever stuck. Foggy compares them all to Matt, and they all seem to know it. He just hopes that _Matt_ doesn’t know it. He seems blissfully ignorant to Foggy’s half-a-decade-long stint of pining, and if he does know, he never says anything. Foggy likes it better that way, it makes it easier most days to ignore the ever-present feeling of a knife in his heart. But some days, Matt gets too close, and Foggy feels his skin ignite. Loving Matt feels a bit like being Icarus - he knows he’s burning himself up, but the warmth Matt provides is worth every scorching second. No one holds a candle to him, because Matt is more like the sun itself. 

When Foggy looks up again, Matt is dozing off with his head propped up on the arm of the couch. Foggy nudges him with his foot.

“C’mon, Matt. You need to sleep in a real bed.” He hauls himself up and reaches a hand out to Matt, who makes a sleepy sound and grasps it to stand.

“I’m not making you sleep on the couch, Foggy. This is your house.” Matt shakes his head, because _of course he does, the kind-hearted bastard,_ and Foggy groans. 

“Matt, you slept in an office chair last night. You’re not sleeping on my shitty couch. Get in bed. If it bugs you so much, we can switch it up tomorrow.” He yawns. He doesn’t care much where he sleeps, as long as he’s horizontal. Foggy is exhausted. Reluctantly, Matt sighs his agreement and traipses off towards Foggy’s bed like Sisyphus bound to Hell, and Foggy snorts back a laugh at the sight of him. He turns off the television and lays down on the couch, and Foggy’s pretty sure he’s asleep before Matt’s even got his glasses off.

Foggy awakens to his phone blaring an alarm and sunlight pouring through the curtainless living room window, and he rolls over to muffle a groan against the fabric of the couch. By the sounds of the quiet shuffling he hears down the hall, Foggy decides that Matt must be awake. He drags himself into a seated position in time to see Matt venture down the hall to the bathroom whilst completely free of clothing. Foggy yelps, evidently startling Matt, and averts his eyes towards the ceiling.

“Rule number one of Chez Nelson, dude, let’s keep clothing _on._ ” Not a rule he’s expected himself to ever be putting in place, but for the sake of his racing heart and uncomfortably sweaty palms, it’s a necessary one. Matt calls out an apology from behind the bathroom door, and Foggy takes a deep breath to steady his heart rate. Easy, Nelson. Don’t get ahead of yourself. While he’s sure Matt wouldn’t mind or much less notice if he wandered around in his underwear, Foggy has _standards_ , and those standards include _not_ parading around half-naked in front of the best friend that he’s definitely maybe in love with. 

When Matt emerges from the shower, Foggy is much calmer. He’s even made breakfast - if one can call it that. It’s toast and left-over chicken balls from dinner the night before. He slides a plate over to Matt and swiftly rises to enter the bathroom. He braces his hands on the sink and stares at himself in the water-spotted mirror of the medicine cabinet.

“Get it together, Foggy.” He mutters under his breath to himself. He’s sure Matt can’t hear him from this far away. Is he giving himself a pep-talk in the mirror? _Yes._ Foggy’s seen it done enough times in movies to know that this is _definitely_ something people do. Maybe not _normal_ people, but people nonetheless. “It’s a few days, and then life goes on. You can handle a few days without confessing your non-heterosexual feelings to your best friend.” He’s whispering aggressively to himself in the mirror, and Foggy’s sure that if anyone could hear him, they’d have him committed. He showers quickly in water that’s more lukewarm than hot and dresses himself for the office. When he returns to the kitchen, the dishes are neatly placed in the drying rack, and Matt is nowhere to be found.

Night falls, and after a few too many drinks at Josie’s with Karen, Matt and Foggy have fallen back into familiar patterns. They’re sprawled over the couch with take-out for a second night in a row - though tonight’s menu is pizza, and they’ve been watching Cops for the last two hours straight. It’s comfortable, Foggy thinks. Now that the initial discomfort has passed, it’s just like being in college all over again. His head is pleasantly fuzzy with the alcohol (maybe that’s why his _head_ is in Matt’s lap instead of his _legs,_ but that’s neither here nor there) and his eyes feel heavy, so he’s perfectly content to stay where he is. He feels Matt’s hand rest atop his head and absent fingers carding through his hair, and Foggy all but melts.

He awakens in the middle of the night to Matt’s entire body tensing beneath him and a small whimper of a sound leaving his mouth. Foggy’s immediately sitting up.

“Matt - hey, wake up-” Foggy is used to this by now. Matt’s had nightmares for as long as Foggy has known him, but has simply gotten better at hiding them. Tonight’s not one of those nights. Matt awakens with a jolt, glasses forgotten and eyes wide. It breaks Foggy’s heart. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, Foggy, I’m fine.” Matt falls back against the cushions of the couch and tips his head back with a sigh. Foggy knows he’s lying, but chooses not to press the issue. They operate better when neither asks too many questions.

“Alright, come on,” Foggy drags himself to his feet and grabs hold of Matt’s arm to stand him up. “Bed, for real this time.” His words run together. Matt allows him to drag him along and gently nudge him into the bed. Foggy flops down beside him, face first, and blows out a sigh. 

“Thanks, Fog.” Matt’s voice breaks the silence. Foggy mumbles a muffled you’re welcome and turns his head so he’s facing Matt. In the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, he’s reduced to a silhouette. Foggy has half a mind to reach out and trace his fingertips across the angular planes of his face but hastily decides against it, because _bad Foggy._

“Always gonna take care of you, buddy.” He shrugs because it’s true. 

“Yeah,” Matt says quietly. “I know, Foggy.” The honesty behind the conversation is startling. There’s something heavy about it that’s different from other times they’ve spoken. Foggy blames the alcohol.

“Love you.” He sighs contentedly and burrows further against the blankets. Sleepy as he is, Foggy is _very_ aware of their proximity. They haven’t shared a bed in years, now that he thinks of it - even when he’s drunk, Foggy sleeps on Matt’s couch. It’s easier that way, and he doesn’t have to worry about his unconscious self doing anything ridiculous like making Matt the little spoon or something. Matt’s breathing evens out slowly, and the rhythm of his exhaling lulls Foggy to sleep.

Foggy’s alarm blares loudly through the room and he smacks blindly at the screen of his phone with a bitten-off curse. He’d forgotten to turn it off last night before they’d both fallen asleep.

“Sorry, Matt.” He mumbles and cracks one eye open. He’s sprawled across the mattress, surrounded in bed sheets that smell like Matt - Hugo Boss and a faint scent of something earthy, but he’s alone. Foggy sits up and blearily rubs at his eyes. “Matt?” He calls, but no one answers. Stumbling to his feet, he wanders into the kitchen, but it’s also empty. There’s no sign Matt had ever been in Foggy’s apartment at all. 

He returns to his bedroom and picks up his phone to call Matt, but there’s no answer. So he calls again, still no answer. He calls Karen, who curses his name to the devil and hangs up on him. Foggy, despite himself, begins to panic. Had something happened to Matt? Foggy’s fear of Matt falling down a manhole was well-founded and had yet to dissipate any in the years since college. Perhaps the worst thought that strikes him is the fear that he’d done or said something to make Matt uncomfortable. _Oh, God. What if he knows?_ And then he remembers the words spoken while half asleep. _Love you._ So he does know. Foggy feels a growing pit of dread and guilt open up in his stomach and threaten to swallow him whole.

Foggy sets a new record for getting himself dressed and rushes out of his apartment only to find Mrs. Ramirez from across the hall standing by the stairs.

“Hello, Franklin dear.” She smiles and waves at him. Foggy forces a smile that feels a bit more like a grimace.

“Hi, Mrs. Ramirez. Did you see Matt leave, by chance? He, uh - he forgot his phone.” Easier than admitting that he’d disappeared in the middle of the night.

“Matt?” Her face scrunches up as if she’s trying to remember. “Oh! Is he the gentleman caller I see coming in and out of your apartment so much? The blind one?” She lights up. “Now _he’s_ a handsome boy, Franklin. Quite the catch. You’re lucky.” Any other day, Foggy would laugh at Matt being referred to as a _gentleman caller_ and would play along with her speculatory gossip, but today he has no time.

“Yeah, yeah - gentleman caller. Did you see him leave this morning?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. He left not long ago, gave me a _lovely_ smile on his way out. Such a sweet boy.” She comments. _Of course_ Matt’s got Foggy’s elderly neighbour wrapped around his finger. Foggy mutters a brief thanks and thunders down the stairs to rush to Matt’s apartment. 

The hallway outside Matt’s door is littered with sheets of drywall and plastic sheeting. Well, at least the landlord is fixing the problem like Matt said. He opens the door to the apartment and is immediately taken aback by the chaos of the place. It’s a wonder that Matt hasn’t fallen yet. A massive chunk is missing from the wall, leaving the pipes exposed, and buckets filled with water are scattered around the floor. There’s a massive puddle in the corner of the living room that Foggy does his best to avoid.

“Matt, are you here?” He calls. Matt pokes his head out of the bedroom.

“Foggy?” His voice sounds strained. “What are you doing here?”

“You disappeared, buddy, I had to make sure you didn’t fall into the gutter or something.” He explains, suddenly feeling rather ashamed of how anxious he’d been. Clearly, Matt was fine, Foggy had probably just freaked him out last night. “But, uh - I see you’re alive and well and definitely not dead in a ditch, so I’ll go.” He says slowly and turns to leave. Space will be good for them, probably. He can work on repressing the memory of telling Matt he’s in love with him, and it will give him time to change his name and move to Italy. With any luck, Karen won’t hold it against him.

“Foggy - wait,” Matt says hesitantly. Foggy isn’t sure he wants to turn around. “Can - can we talk? About last night?”

“Uh - yeah, we can. What’s there to talk about?” He tries to sound as nonchalant as possible while his heart’s beating out a _goddamn symphonic orchestral arrangement_ in his chest. 

“Foggy, I know you love me,” Matt says suddenly. The bluntness of it feels like Foggy’s been punched in the stomach. “That you’re in love with me. I’ve known for a while.” His tone is almost apologetic. _Oh, good, so I’ve been a terrible liar for years,_ Foggy thinks, but he says nothing. He turns and faces Matt again, and Matt’s wearing that stupid kicked puppy look that Foggy wishes so desperately would _stop._

“You caught me, Murdock.” He says wearily. There’s no use in lying anymore, anyways. “I’ve loved you since college, and our law firm is definitely a ploy to get you to fall hopelessly in love with me.” It’s a weak attempt at a joke to lessen the discomfort he’s obviously feeling. Matt looks even sadder (seriously, how does he _do_ that?) and rubs his hands together like he’s thinking.

“Foggy, I can’t - I can’t love you like that.” He says finally, and Foggy feels the air leave his lungs like a sad balloon. He swallows hard and nods, for once grateful that Matt can’t see the look on his face. 

“Yeah.” Foggy nods.

“No, no - Foggy, it’s not that I don’t love you. I just - I can’t-”

“You don’t have to apologize for not being in love with me, Matt.” Foggy laughs quietly and shakes his head. “I’m a big kid, I can handle rejection.”

“ _Foggy,_ ” Matt pleads. “Please just listen to me. I can’t let myself love you. Or anyone.” Foggy can tell it’s hurting him to try to explain this.

“If this is some Catholic thing, you don’t have to explain it to me.” That earns him a sad laugh from Matt.

“I have to keep you safe. From me. The only way I can do that is from a distance, even a short one.” He doesn’t expect Foggy to understand, thank God, because Foggy’s more confused now than he was when he walked in. 

“So - you do love me?”

“Yes,” Matt suddenly sounds exasperated. “Of course I do, Foggy, Jesus, but-”

“You love me.” He repeats, putting on his best courtroom voice. If this voice wins him trials, he’s sure it can win him Matt Murdock. “But nothing. I don’t need protecting, Matt.” That’s a lie they both know isn’t true, but Foggy’s trying to be _convincing,_ damn it.

And then Matt is closing the space between them and he pulls Foggy against him, kissing him like he’s trying to steal the breath right out of Foggy’s lungs. Matt is warm and solid against Foggy’s chest and he all but melts against him. _Oh. This is nice._

“You’re stuck with me, Murdock,” Foggy says a little breathlessly once Matt has decided to let him breathe in.

“I know, Foggy.” And Matt smiles. 

Some days, Foggy feels more like Icarus than others. He veers too close and knows he’s going to burn up in Matt’s atmosphere. But then he sees Matt smile, and he’s sure he glows brighter than the sun itself, and Foggy knows that some people _(naming no Matt Murdocks)_ will always be worth the risk.


End file.
